


There is No Place Like Home for the Holidays

by Lenalena



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas with the Avengers, Cliche, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Iron Man 3, Pre-Age of Ultron, Sappy, all the sap, schmaltz, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenalena/pseuds/Lenalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is the first to come home to the tower after S.H.I.E.L.D. goes down. Then Natasha and Clint arrive. Tony doesn't mind, really, he's got the space. Except it's December and they insist on doing Christmassy shit. Who the hell has time for that?!?</p><p>Christmas 5 - Tony 0</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

**Author's Note:**

> Starting a new fic as December draws to a close requires a special kind of insanity. Once again, this is Kate's fault. She was complaining that some holiday story compilation she was reading used the holidays as window dressing only and that just wouldn't do. A Christmas story needed all the schmaltzy Christmas stuff! "Oooooh!" went my traitorous brain. So, here. Have a schmaltzy Avengers Christmas story. 
> 
> I think Kate morally objected to the very fluffy nature of this fic, and if it hadn't been for the holidays, she might have refused to cooperate with anything this likely to induce a diabetic coma. But she must have had too much pie, or something, because she did in fact beta this. With an amazing turnaround time, too. Thanks, Kate! 
> 
> Just to be clear, this story does NOT take place in the [Wait & Sea](http://archiveofourown.org/series/146184) universe. This is a post Winter Soldier and post Iron Man 3 story. But pre Age of Ultron. Spoilers for all Marvel movies.

Steve was the first one to come back to the tower. It was December 12th, or at least, that was when Tony noticed, as he schlepped himself into the communal kitchen for a 3 am breakfast that was not liquid. Steve could have been there for a couple of days already, as far as Tony knew, the last 72 hours were a bit of a blur, to be honest. Steve wasn't alone. He and a dude that Tony could only assume to be Falcon, judging by the wings he was sporting, were bent over a bunch of papers and in the middle of a heated discussion. Tony blinked in confusion. The hell was Steve doing here? S.H.I.E.LD. was dead. Steve had killed S.H.I.E.L.D. last summer. Didn't that mean the Avengers were dead too? Despite the apartments Tony had had built for them in the tower back in happier days, Bruce was the only one that used his.

Tony decided to go with sarcasm rather than outrage. “Gentlemen! Welcome to my humble abode! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Steve's head shot up. “Stark. Hi. Um. My security code still worked? So I hoped I was still welcome?” He had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

“Yeah, it's fine.” Because it _was_ fine, really. Let it not be said that Tony was obstructing Freedom, Justice and the Captain American Way. And the man did have a suite of rooms here, even if he'd never used them.

“I asked your robot butler to ask you, but he said you didn't want to be disturbed when you were working on the armor.”

“To be specific,” J.A.R.V.I.S. piped up, “Sir said he would electrocute the next person who so much as dared to breathe in his general vicinity. I deemed announcing your presence to be potentially detrimental to your health, Captain Rogers.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “And America thanks you for saving her favorite son from my wrath, J.A.R.V.I.S., well done, you.”

“I thought I'd heard you retired, though, and had destroyed the armor last year?” Steve inquired.

“I did. I had. Until S.H.I.E.L.D. cacked. And nobody seemed to have a fucking clue what would happen if we happened to have another alien invasion. Remember that nuke I flew through that portal last year, because WSC thought the most elegant solution would be to just nuke Manhattan to stop Loki? I saw the fucking mothership, Cap, and it made the stuff they sent down here look like blow darts. And now S.H.I.E.L.D is gone. Fury's gone. Coulson is gone. You and Natasha disappeared. Thor is canoodling with his girlfriend. Or his brother, who the fuck knows? And I haven't seen Barton since we had Shawarma. In the meantime, I still had nightmares about those fucking Chitauri and I realized I'd sleep marginally better if stopped sitting on my ass drinking fruity cocktails at the beach with my girlfriend and made sure I could give the Hulk some back up if the fuckers came back. So I unretired.”

“Hydra had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. It had to go.” Steve's expression made it clear he wasn't apologizing for causing Tony's misery.

“I'm aware. Ungrateful bastards. Putting me on top of the hit list after I built them those helicarriers. That was before I was aware, of course.” Tony shrugged. “I'm not blaming you. I'm just hoping to make Hydra pay some day for costing me my girlfriend.”

“Ms. Potts... Is she...?” Now Steve looked a little stricken.

“She's fine. Well, maybe not fine, per se. Not as bad as she was after she dumped me for breaking my promise by unretiring and breaking her heart in the process, though. That was six months ago, she's probably alright by now.” Better than Tony, anyway. He was also better than he had been, but he wouldn't call himself fine yet. Comfortably numb, maybe. Which was a whole lot better than hurting like hell.

“It's just Bruce and me here now. Sciencing in peace. Together. Well, with a thick wall between us, because he doesn't appreciate the subtleties of Death Metal and I hate sitars.”

Steve nodded in acknowledgment, but wisely decided not to pursue that line of questioning. He turned towards his companion, who was watching Tony with amused fascination.

“Tony, this is Sam Wilson, also known as Falcon. Sam, this is Tony Stark..."

Sam came forward to shake Tony's hand and gave him a much more genuine smile than Steve had. Having overseen the introductions, Steve continued: "We're looking for my old friend Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier. We tracked him to New York, but we seem to have lost him. We were hoping J.A.R.V.I.S. would be able to run some data for us. Bucky may have a chance of regaining his memory now that Hydra is more or less defunct and..."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Tony, "Back up for a sec. The Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes? As in 'died tragically in WWII' Bucky Barnes? Holy fuck... Did Hydra catch him?"

 

Ten minutes later Tony had an entirely new appreciation of what had gone down in Washington last summer and a new found need to go point out a few holes in the story Maria Hill had told him when she came to work for him. The woman probably couldn't help keeping secrets, though, spending that much time with Nick Fury was bound to have left scars, but it was the principle of the thing. He made a mental note to sic J.A.R.V.I.S. on her to see what else she was hiding, First though... He pointed at Sam's wings.

"Gimme."

Sam looked dubious. "I don't know man, they're working pretty good right now, I'm not sure I want you to mess with them. They're a bit delicate."

Unable to decide between laughing derisively or cursing indignantly, Tony ended up with a indelicate splutter. Steve smiled at him, an actual smile this time, and turned to Sam. "I think you're safe letting him look at them. I heard he did good work on the helicarriers."

"The work was excellent, fuck you very much! All my work is excellent."

Sam started laughing at him. "I know, man. I know who you are. I am just messing with you. I'd love for you to take a look at the wings. They're a little temperamental, actually." And with that Sam was Tony's new best friend. He happily trotted off to his workshop with his prize, breakfast forgotten.

 

***

 

When Tony resurfaced a little later, December 13th or 14th or so, he was met with pretty much the same scene, only Bruce was frowning at the paperwork now too, mug of green tea in hand.

"He's gone to ground," Bruce intoned a little morosely while pointing at one of the papers, "He's purchased enough food to lay low for weeks if he stretches it and he is physically capable of putting a lot of distance between himself and his last point of purchase within a short time. He doesn't want to be found right now. Believe me, I know the feeling. With a little luck he'll do a lot of thinking though and hopefully chisel away at the Hydra conditioning?" He looked at Steve, who was frowning too.

"I know you want to help him," Bruce continued, "but I think the best thing you can do right now is let him be for a bit. Have J.A.R.V.I.S. help you monitor any tracks he leaves and be ready when he pops back up among the living."

Steve sighed heavily and looked at Sam. "What do you think?"

"I think the man is right. The fact that Bucky's a managed to hold onto even a shred of humanity after all that's been done to him tells me he's a stubborn motherfucker. If he doesn't want be social right now, he's not going to be social. Let's keep an eye out for signs that he does, though, and be ready to go then."

"Fair enough, " Steve nodded unhappily. "I guess we can take a break for the holidays, huh?" He managed a wry smile.

"Exactly," Sam beamed. "Like all the normal people do. Remember it's important to make an effort to do the normal things that normal people do, Steve. Fitting back in, my man, can't slack off on the fitting in."

"Yeah?" Steve asked, "What normal holiday things are you going to do, then?"

"I think I'll go spend some time with my aunt down south. She's always on my case about spending the holidays with them. She is still pissed I missed Thanksgiving. Wanna come?"

Steve looked around pensively and spotted Tony holding Sam's wings. He shook his head.

"Nah, thanks. I think I want to spend some time in the city. I haven't done Christmas here in decades.” He smiled wryly. “I'd like to see how she does it these days. If that's okay with you, Stark?"

"It's a bit late to change the security codes now, isn't it? No, this was always meant to be the Avengers' home base. Consider yourself home." Tony couldn't read Steve's expression, but apparently the word 'home' was a bit of a sensitive issue. He turned to Sam.

"Hey man, before you go: I got your wings. There is absolutely nothing delicate or temperamental about these babies now. Merry Christmas. Ho Ho Ho. Care to take them up for a spin?"

 

And that was how three Avengers ended up freezing their asses off on the top of Stark tower watching Falcon whooping and doing loop-de-loops over the city's Christmas light displays. It was the weirdest start of the holiday season that Tony could remember. Not the worst, though. Not the worst.

 


	2. Do You Hear What I Hear?

Natasha turned up next. A couple of days after Sam had left, Tony found her sitting at the kitchen table with Steve and Bruce as if she hadn't been gone for more than a year. They were having coffee and discussing..... food? Tony was a little hesitant to join them, since the food seemed to be a serious topic and it didn't look like they were waiting for his input, but reminded himself this was _his_ kitchen in _his_ tower and he could sit wherever he damn well pleased.

"Hey, Tony." Natasha said when he plopped himself down. She had changed a bit. It was hard to tell what made him think so, specifically, she just didn't seem as ready to string him up and flay him alive. Not that she didn't seem ready to do that at all, just not _as_ ready.

"Natasha. Natalie. Brigitte. Which one of your names should I use? You have so many more than I ever knew. Good to see you, by the way."

See, the old Natasha would have smirked or given him the glare of death. This one looked a little resigned, or maybe even sad.

"Let's stick with Natasha for now. I liked being Natasha, I'd be happy to be Natasha among friends."

Tony almost choked on his coffee before he realized she probably meant Bruce and Steve were her friends, not him. Whatever. Good for her. Bruce helpfully patted him on the back, then turned his attention to Steve.

"You don't think one turkey is enough? Not even if we get like a twenty pounder?"

Steve looked a little embarrassed. "I could probably eat one all by myself if I put a little effort into it. My metabolism, you know. And we have two ovens," He gestured to the kitchen wall that held the ovens, microwave and wine fridge. "So we could make a turkey and maybe a ham too."

"I am Jewish," came a voice from behind Tony. "I don't eat kosher or anything, but I'd prefer Prime Rib if we're doing a second protein." Tony whirled around and watched Clint Barton stroll into his kitchen in lounge pants and a ratty t-shirt, towel drying his hair as he went.

"Barton!" He blurted. "Hey! Where have you been?"

Clint mumbled something that sounded like "farm", but that couldn't possiblybe right. Well, it was none of Tony's business if Clint didn't want to share. Tony looked back at the group to see if they were as surprised to see Clint as he was, but obviously they had been aware of Clint's presence in his tower. He really needed to have a little chat with J.A.R.V.I.S. about announcing visitors. Roommates. Whatever.

Steve looked stricken. "Oh. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to co-opt the holidays. Um. What should we do for Hanukkah?"

Clint climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar and started helping himself to coffee. "Oh, don't worry about that. Hanukkah fell around Thanksgiving this year. I am free to help you celebrate your Messiah's birthday. As long as I can stick to eating the food and you don't expect me to go to midnight mass or anything. And no caroling."

It finally dawned on Tony they were talking about Christmas dinner. Whoa!

"For what it's worth, I'm Buddhist," said Bruce, "But I don't mind doing the Christmas thing with all of you. As long as we keep it low key on the religious side."

"As long as we're sharing," said Natasha with a small smile, "I am Russian Orthodox and all we need is vodka to make it a holiday. Any holiday. But not any vodka. None of that horse piss they drink over here."

There were going to be four people in his tower at Christmas? Tony must have looked a little poleaxed, because suddenly Steve turned to him. "Oh. That is, of course, if it is alright with you that we do Christmas here, Tony. I guess we should have asked first, maybe." Steve really was a decent guy. Old fashioned manners and all that.

"Sure. It's fine. No problem. You know you all have suites of rooms here, right? I'm not kicking you out because you insist on celebrating holidays."

"What are your plans?" asked Steve again, "Will you join us?"

"I, eh, I usually tell everybody who invites me that I have other commitments and then I spend a nice quiet day in my workshop with nobody bugging me."

Steve looked horrified. Why was Steve horrified? The man had no living relatives, why was he horrified at the idea of Tony spending Christmas alone? He'd done it for decades. It wasn't a big deal.

"Well, that was stupid, Stark," Clint joined them at the table. "Now we now that you'll be lying when you tell us that you have another commitment and you'll have to spend the day with us."

"No. No! That's quite alright. I'll be fine. You guys do whatever you want and I'll get some quality work time in. I don't like Christmas, I really don't, I much prefer to spend it alone. In fact, I'll leave you to your discussion and I'll just -" He made to stand up, when Natasha pinned him with a glare that had nothing of her new found softness in it.

"Sit down, Stark."

Tony sat with alacrity. She shot a quick glance at Steve, who was looking a little wild around the eyes, then she turned back to Tony. "Nobody here is spending Christmas alone. Are we clear?"

Tony stared at her. What the ever living fuck? He'd bet a million dollars that she had spent more than a dozen Christmasses alone. Same for Clint. And Bruce would never have risked bringing the Hulk to a Christmas dinner with friends or family, if he had any of the latter, Tony'd never asked. And Steve...

Oh. This was about Steve. This was only Steve's second Christmas out of the ice. Tony had no idea what he'd done last year, he'd been a little busy with people that could turn into fire and rescuing Presidents, but it had probably been rough on Steve. He didn't have decades of practice dealing with loss and loneliness. Not that having Tony around would make any difference to Steve, Tony thought, because he was shit at being good company during the holidays. But apparently it was painful to Steve if anyone was alone, even Tony. Even if Tony didn't care.

Right. Okay then. He could spare a couple of hours to eat food. Although....

"Yep. Crystal clear. You got it. Not spending Christmas alone. But why are we cooking? I can't even make Ramen noodles. Really, J.A.R.V.I.S. has some excellent caterers on speed dial. I'd be happy to order whatever we want. How about a buffet? I like buffets. Who doesn't like buffets? Just give J.A.R.V.I.S. a list and-"

"Tony," Bruce interjected gently, "We want to cook. Cooking is nice. It's comforting. It smells good. It's fun."

"Fun?" Tony had a hard time wrapping his head around that concept in relation to cooking.

"If you don't want to cook, just bring the booze, Stark," Clint suggested happily. "I'll give you a list for that."

"Yeah. Sure. Fine." But Tony felt oddly let down. Bringing the booze would be easy. But it felt like a cop out. He followed the rest of the discussion with a half ear, wondering _why_ he was trying to think of something, _anything_ that he could cook.  


	3. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

Tony realized that it might have been a tad naive to think that all that was expected of him holiday-wise was to import Russian vodka and show up for dinner on the 25th. Honestly, that had seemed doable, even for him. And so he remembered agreeing to that. But he did not remember agreeing to anything else and certainly not something as patently ridiculous as going skating at Rockefeller Center. Honestly, who even did that?

"About 250,000 people annually, Sir," provided J.A.R.V.I.S. helpfully.

"Really? That many? Well, consider me a rebel, then."

"I think Ms. Romanov considers you more of a bad sport, sir."

"Ms. Romanov can suck it. I have better things to do."

"I shall relay that message to her, shall I, Sir?"

"No! Nonononono! You shall relay no such thing. I may be a rebel, but I am not suicidal."

"Very well, Sir."

Tony got back to his redesign of the thrusters, but he'd lost the flow somehow. Something wasn't adding up in one of the circuit designs but he couldn't pin down what it was. He'd been staring at the damn thing for minutes, but it kept eluding him. He tapped his lip with his index finger.

"So they all went?"

"Dr Banner is still here, Sir. He didn't feel comfortable going out into a crowd. He promised to cook dinner though, for when they came back."

"Whose idea was this?"

"Captain Rogers was very excited to find out that the skating rink still existed. Ms. Romanov insisted they go immediately."

Unbidden, a mental picture of Steve on skates popped into Tony's head. Cheeks pink with cold and smiling that rare smile that transformed his face. Would he wear a hat? Or a beanie? No. No hat, but a ridiculous scarf, Tony decided. He yanked his attention back to his stubborn circuit design and fiddled with it for a bit. Until he started wondering if super soldiers had super skating abilities, or if they had to learn like anyone else. Would Steve be clutching the railing or would he be the epitome of grace, like a a more muscular and heterosexual version of Brian Boitano? Both possibilities were appealing. Damn it, he wasn't getting anywhere this way. He stubbornly poked at his schematics, but they weren't cooperating at all.

"Perhaps some fresh air would help Sir clear his mind," J.A.R.V.I.S. supplied innocently. Devious little shit. But given the fact that Tony hadn't been outside in over a week, he might actually have a point. Going outside didn't mean going skating or anything, right? Lots of people went outside every day and did not end up skating.

"Perhaps you're right."

***

Tony had been right on the no hat and the pink cheeks thing, but Steve's scarf was a boring plaid one. He also was a competent skater, if not quite Brian Boitano. Natasha was more than a competent skater. If Tony didn't know better, and really, he might actually not, he'd think she'd grown up in one of those Cold War athlete factories the Eastern Block used to sport. Clint was having fun, and that's the most Tony would say about his skills. Tony shivered a bit in his coat, it wasn't quite New York City winter proof, but the ones that were were just too unflattering to be seen in in public. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, Michelin Man was not just not how he saw himself. He was contemplating getting a hot chocolate to take some of the chill off when Steve spotted him. The smile that broke out on Steve's face was blinding and it must have done something weird to Tony's brain, because, despite protesting vehemently, Tony found himself on the ice with the other Avengers fifteen minutes later.

Tony was not a good skater. In fact, he might well be worse than Clint, who was clutching the railing more often than not. He had explained this to Steve, but Steve's solution had been to hold on to Tony's hands while slowly skating backwards, allowing Tony to find his footing somewhat.

"This is really very undignified, you pulling me like I am three years old. Why am I on the ice, Cap? I was perfectly happy as a landlubber."

"Just relax, Tony. Holding yourself stiff as a board isn't helping your balance. Soften your knees a little and move your weight from foot to foot."

"If the paparazzi spot us and post pictures of this I am never talking to you again. Just so you know."

"Aw, come on, Tony. It could be worse. I could hold you up with my arm around your waist." Steve waggled his eyebrows at Tony and Tony was rendered speechless for a moment. Where was the dour Capsicle they all knew and loved? Who was this impostor that called him by his first name and smiled and cracked jokes? With innuendo, for crying out loud!

"Well I am happy my lack of skills are amusing to you, but I'd rather you just drape me over the railing and go have fun with Natasha and the other members of the skating elite."

"I _am_ having fun. And I dragged you onto the rink so I feel kind of responsible. If I'd allow your genius brains to spill onto the ice, it would a devastating loss to the world. So you'll just have to put up with me." Tony couldn't argue with that without somehow implying that he wasn't a genius or that it wouldn't be a loss for the world if he split his noggin, so he accepted the help more or less gracefully. As lacking in grace as he felt right at the moment, that was quite the feat.

True to his word, Steve didn't leave his side for the entire two hours they were there. Tony ended up dangling in Steve's arms on numerous occasions, which caused loud heckling from Clint and annoying little twirls with flourishes and smirks from Natasha, but despite that, or maybe because of that, he was actually having fun.

"Can we stop now? I can't feel my legs and I am quite done being the swooning princess," he bitched purely on principle. Steve smirked. An honest to god smirk on Captain America's face. It seemed a bit unpatriotic, somehow.

“What? What is that face?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about how you'd react if I took pity on the poor princess's aching feet and carried you off the ice, bridal style.”

“Yeah, no. I'm sure my ego could take the dent, big as it is, but that's still not really something I'd enjoy.”

“That's what I figured.” Steve's expression had gone a little flat. Why? Did he _want_ to carry Tony of the ice? Why would he ever ….

“Although I am sure I know some other dudes that would be ecstatic to be carried anywhere by a guy like you.”

Steve laughed now. “Yes, I am sure I do too. They're not that subtle about letting me know either. Times have really changed that way.” Tony looked at him appreciatively.

“Did you ever.... _carry_ any of them?”

Ohooo! That was a blush. It was obvious, even with Steve's cheeks already pink from the cold.

Natasha flounced over. “Are we getting off the ice? We have more stuff to do.” She looked curiously between Steve and Tony. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” provided Tony helpfully. “Just talking about Steve carrying dudes.”

“Really? Carrying dudes? Like, on the battlefield in WWII?” Her eyebrow rose quizzically, as if she might be calling bullshit on her own question, but for sure on any answer to it.

“Yes, like that,” Steve answered too quickly. Tony wisely shut up as Steve started pulling him towards the exit. He couldn't help giving Natasha a little finger waggle wave and a shit eating grin as he passed her, though. He didn't know what he had won, but he could tell he had won _something_.

 

***

“Ok, so next....” Natasha started as they were all standing outside the skating rink, Tony wobbling a little trying to get used to not having two millimeters of metal strapped under his feet.

“Please tell me we're not going to see the Rockettes next,” he interrupted.

“Oooh, let's go see the Rockettes! I want to see the Rockettes!” exclaimed Steve. Tony couldn't tell if he was serious or not. He decided not.

“You're lying.” Tony stated flatly. He turned to Widow. “He's lying. You're an awful influence. And so are you, Barton.” he added with a nod to Clint. “The both of you should be ashamed for sullying Captain America's lily white soul.”

“Hey now!” started Steve, but he was cut off by Natasha, who was smiling sweetly at Tony.

“Fine. Then Clint and I will take our black souls shopping for decorations and baking supplies and _you_ can go with Steve to get the tree.”

“Wait. What?” Tony spluttered. “Why? I mean, _why_?!? There are professionals that do that, people. There are professionals out there that you pay and they come to your house and they decorate it and it will be all tasteful and shit. And in the meantime, you can get some work done. It's a splendid system. We should honor it."

Clint was looking at Tony as if he was not quite the sharpest crayon in the box. Which was patently unfair, because compared to all other crayons everywhere, Tony was wicked sharp. "Come on, Stark," he even sounded like he didn't believe Tony had just had a marvelous idea. "Surely you've figured out by now that we're not outsourcing Christmas."

"Why the hell not?" stubborned Tony, "Professional decorators need to make a living too, you know."

"Tell, me," said Clint, "When is the last time you did something Christmas-like?"

"Couple of years ago. Pepper dragged me to a holiday party, I think."

"Okay. Let me rephrase the question. When is the last time you were even mildly emotionally invested in Christmas?"

Tony had to think on that one. "Uh..... 1979?"

Clint winced. "Shit, you're old, Stark. But you're making my point beautifully." He pointed at Tony, Natasha and himself. "You, her, me: We know nothing about how to make this holiday meaningful. Him..." he pointed at Steve, who was wearing a sad little smile that Tony really hoped wasn't for him personally, "Out of date as he is, his soul isn't as jaded as ours. So we're doing this Steve's way. Which means that Nat and I are going to get decorations and baking supplies and you and Steve are getting a tree." He turned to Natasha. "Let's go. You got the list, babe?"

"Babe me one more time and you'll have the list shoved up your ass, honey." Natasha gave Tony the same little finger waggle he had given her on the ice and strode off with a grinning Clint in tow.

"Right," said Tony. "I guess we're getting a tree. I suppose having Happy come bring the Limo to transport it for us would be the kind of cheating only us soulless people do too?"

"You would be supposing right." Steve was grinning.

Tony wasn't even pissed. Something was horribly wrong with him, obviously, because getting dragged into pointless shit like this was an excellent reason to be pissed. But when Steve slung an arm around his shoulder and started steering him away, yammering about where the best tree lots were, Tony was remarkably fine with it. And even with life in general.

 

***

 

The sky had grown dark and it was snowing lightly by the time they reached what Steve had deemed NYC's best tree lot. Tony had been grateful for the warmth of Steve's arm during the walk because the temperature was dropping rapidly and whatever heat he had built up ice skating had disappeared a while ago. Now they were standing side by side, perusing the selection of trees, hands shoved in their pockets for warmth. It wasn't until they were ten minutes into a discussion of the merits of Noble Firs over Douglas Firs that Tony was struck by the complete and utter ridiculousness of it all.

"I can't believe this," he interrupted Steve's theories on Noble Firs potentially staying fresh longer, "Look at us!"

"What? What is wrong with this?" Steve looked a little hurt, as if Tony was about to stomp off and leave him alone to pick a tree by himself.

"Nothing! Everything!" Tony gestured around them, perhaps a little wildly. "It's is like we're in every single Christmas movie slash Romcom ever made. There's Christmas lights and snow and we're about to pick a tree together. We should be wearing Santa hats and then we should argue about what the perfect tree is and then we seriously overestimate our ceiling height so we end up having to saw about two feet off the tree and it will end up looking lopsided and we'll say it's perfect anyway and then you kiss me on the nose and then we'll have Chinese take out on the rug in front of the fireplace watching the lights twinkle in the tree and so on and so forth!"

"Wait here a sec," said Steve, while Tony dragged in a big gulp of air at the end of that overly long sentence. He came back five minutes later with two Santa hats.

"I am afraid Bruce is making curry tonight," he said while shoving one of the hats onto Tony's head. Tony would have taken the stupid thing right back off, but it was blessedly warm, actually, so he decided he could suffer the indignity.

"Listen," he started, "that _wasn't -_ "

"Ssshhhh," hushed Steve, while putting his own hat on. Tony was about to gripe at him for being shushed, when Steve leaned forward and kissed him on the nose. His lips were surprisingly warm, given how cold it was, and they were a little dry and they took the wind right out of Tony's sails. He snapped his mouth shut as his stomach gave an odd little lurch that was very disconcerting. It was over almost before it began, but Tony was at a loss for words for several interminable seconds. When he managed to lift his eyes to Steve's, Steve was smiling down at him and Tony's stomach repeated the offensive maneuver.

"I don't think we have to worry about the ceiling height in the tower, " said Steve. "Let's go with the Noble Fir. How about that one?" He pointed to a tree that looked identical to all the other trees as far as Tony was concerned at this particular point in time, so Tony nodded silently. Whatever. He shoved his hands back in his pockets to stop himself from touching his nose in wonder.

 

***

 

It was slow going on the way back to the tower. The tree wasn't particularly heavy, Steve was carrying most of the weight, but it was unwieldy and they had to maneuver it through the crowd on the sidewalk without taking anyone's head off. It might have been easier if Steve had just slung it over his shoulder and Tony was man enough to admit that he wouldn't have minded the sight of Steve being all beefcake with a Christmas tree, but this was fine too. Very romcom scenario, still. The snow was falling thicker now and Tony's feet were going a bit numb. Time to pick up the pace.

Well, he _tried_ picking up the pace, but Steve behind him suddenly slowed down considerably and there was no way Tony was able to drag him along if he wasn't cooperating. He yanked on the tree once for good measure but that proved futile.

"Just a sec, Tony," came Steve's voice from behind him, "let me smell the chestnuts for a bit." Chestnuts? What chestnuts? Tony looked around and spotted a guy at the edge of the sidewalk that seemed a likely suspect to be roasting said chestnuts. They smelled kind of pleasant, he supposed, even if they immediately caused a earworm of 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, something something la la la'. He turned his head to look at Steve, who was inhaling deeply, looking... wistful? What the fuck? If he wanted chestnuts that badly, why wasn't he getting chestnuts?

"Hey Steve! You want some chestnuts?"

"Noooooo, it's alright. This is fine." God, that was the least convincing no Tony had ever heard. In combination with the puppy eyes it was truly pathetic. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Hold that tree for a minute, will you?" Tony dropped his end, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye as he fumbled with the unexpected shift in weight, but then regained control with awe-inspiring efficiency. So much for trying to trip up Captain America. But at least his face wasn't doing that thing anymore. Tony bought a bag of chestnuts, the warmth of which felt like heaven on his frozen fingers. He congratulated himself on his excellent ideas. Steve was watching him a little wide eyed, tree on one shoulder (hell yeah, beefcake lumberjack!), as Tony made his way back to him. When he got near though, he was suddenly faced with a dilemma. The chestnuts were for Steve, but there was no way Tony was giving up the deliciously warm bag and there was no way Tony could walk, peel chestnuts, keep hold of the bag and hand the peeled ones to Steve all at the same time, even if Steve carried the tree by himself. Fortunately, he spotted a bench not too far away.

He tilted his head at it and said: "Come on. Let's sit down with these."

Steve seemed happy but a little flustered, as if he could not quite believe that Tony had bought him chestnuts. Which was wrong, really. People should be falling over themselves to buy Steve chestnuts. It should be a thing. A common thing. And not a thing that made Steve look like a child who had just snuck downstairs and had actually caught Santa in the act of stuffing his stocking.

Tony regretted sitting down on the bench almost immediately. Now his ass was freezing too. Steve sat down next to him, a solid wall of warmth and Tony could not help leaning in a little closer. Steve set the tree down between his knees and held on to it with his legs, apparently with total ease. Tony tried very hard not to imagine Steve's massively muscled naked thighs, because it seemed a little too pornographic for the romcom they were acting out, but then he realized it would be impossible to get an erection with the way his balls were trying to crawl up into his body cavity to get away from the freezing bench, so he indulged himself until Steve got the tree settled and turned to him to hold up his hand for a chestnut. The way Steve smiled at him as he did so, was enough to wipe even naked thighs from his mind.

They sat in silence, munching chestnuts, which tasted much better than Tony had expected. Steve made little pleased noises while eating, which Tony manfully ignored. When they were getting to the bottom of the bag though, even Steve's warm presence couldn't counteract the numbness of his feet and ass anymore and he suppressed a shiver. Steve sat up with alacrity.

"Tony! You're cold! I'm so sorry for dawdling. Here, take my jacket." He started shrugging out of it. Tony elbowed him.

"No. I am not taking your jacket, you chivalrous idiot. Let's just go. We'll be home in no time." Steve looked dubious.

"At least take my scarf." Before Tony could say anything, he'd unwound it from his neck and wrapped it around Tony's. It was soft and warm and it smelled like Steve and Tony wanted to marry it. Steve was still holding on to the ends of the scarf when Tony looked up and met his eyes. Steve was looking at Tony as if he... This was the moment in the holiday movie where the dude would pull the girl in by the scarf and kiss her. And Tony realized with a sinking feeling and a stutter in his heart that he wanted that. That somehow in the last few hours he had gone and fallen for Steve and the whole ridiculous Christmas thing and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to close the distance and kiss Steve until he couldn't see straight. To feel the heat of his tongue in his mouth and his hands in his hair and that whole magnificent body wrapped around him. God, he must be delirious from hypothermia.

Steve flicked his eyes away and cleared his throat. Tugging the ends of the scarf in place he said: "Right. Okay. Let's get this tree home then, shall we?"

"Sure." Tony knew he sounded odd, but he was doing a pretty good job considering that he felt like the world had just tilted on its axis.

 


	4. It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Tony could have sworn he had designed the ventilation system in the tower so that the workshop was on a completely separate system. Just in case something blew up in a particularly noxious way, with the separate systems they wouldn't have to replace the entire office staff of Stark Industries when it happened. It was sure to be more economical in the long run.

So it made absolutely zero sense that he was smelling fresh baked cookies down in the workshop. Gingerbread cookies, if he was not mistaken. Clint had mentioned his baking plans earlier this morning, but one did not hallucinate smelling cookies. Did one?

"J.A.R.V.I.S.? Why am I smelling cookies?"

"I am sure I have no idea, Sir. Mr. Barton is indeed baking, but the workshop's ventilation system is not connected to the kitchen."

Tony knew that. Tony knew that very well.

So how was the one hallucinating the smell of cookies supposed to get any work done? The point of being in the workshop was to _not_ be in the kitchen and to minimize his exposure to Steve, who was seriously starting to cramp Tony's style by being funny and considerate and earnest and adorable and unfairly fucking gorgeous. But how could Tony be expected to stay in the workshop when he could smell cookies? He briefly considered nailing his hand to the workbench with a screwdriver, like Jesus on the cross, but thought it might be considered a bit of an overreaction to imaginary cookies. Besides, that would be referencing the wrong holiday. And with his luck, Steve would be the one showing up with bandages and concern in his eyes and Tony didn't want to explain that particular 'accident' to Steve.

Which left Tony with really no other alternative than to go check out the motherfucking cookies. He threw down the screwdriver with a few choice curse words and stalked to the elevator.

 

***

 

Clint was indeed baking cookies. He had both ovens going and batches of what looked and smelled like gingerbread dough and sugar cookie dough. He was in the middle of a complicated dance that involved rolling dough, cutting shapes, filling trays, swapping out trays in the ovens, moving hot cookies from trays to wire racks and cooled cookies from wire racks to platters. And he was drinking beer.

"Beer, Barton? Don't cookies traditionally go with milk? Or hot chocolate?"

"Shows how much you know, Stark." Clint dove into the fridge and pulled out another bottle, condensation running down its side. "Tripel Ale is best with gingerbread. Belgian White Beer with sugar cookies. But white beer is better in summer. Which is not now." He slapped Tony's hand, which had been reaching for one of the still warm gingerbread men. "You get one cookie for every ten you decorate." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen table, where Tony spotted Steve and Natasha hard at work. Steve had the tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration. Tony gritted his teeth and looked determinedly away.

"You can have a beer now, though." Clint handed him the freshly opened bottle and turned back to the fridge for himself. "Now get out of my kitchen, you're in the way."

Tony reluctantly sidled out of the kitchen, purposely avoiding the table. The tree they had brought home last night was standing next to the fireplace and Maria Hill was stringing it full of lights. Otherwise it was still undecorated. He wandered over, tasting the beer. Yowza. Strong. He barely managed to swallow without coughing.

"Hello, Ms. Hill. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark. Aren't you supposed to be at a board meeting?"

Whoops.

"Never mind, Hill. Carry on. Nice work."

"Likewise, Stark," she smirked back. "Nice tree."

"Can't say that I had much input. Capsicle has strong opinions on trees."

"I believe you. I noticed he has remarkably strong opinions at times." She paused. "So did Nick, much to his chagrin."

"Did he really? I would have payed good money to see that, Nick Fury bowing to Steve Rogers' will. I actually miss the motherfucker."

"Me too." She looked a little sad. Tony had always wondered if she'd had a crush on the man or if it had just been professional admiration. Hero worship, maybe? But that line of thought suddenly hit a little close to home, and to his own little crush, so he looked around for a distraction. He immediately found one right in front of him where Falcon and Bruce were stringing popcorn and cranberries into garlands.

"Sam! You're back! Wait. Does this mean that the Winter Soldier..."

"Nah, man. He's still laying low. It means that my aunt thought I was getting underfoot and told me to skedaddle for a few days. I'm expected back for Christmas, though." He selected another piece of popcorn and stuck the needle through it. "Thought I'd come and see how my buddy Steve was getting through the season, make sure he wasn't moping lonely in a corner somewhere. Hah! Instead I find this!" He gestured expansively with a cranberry. "I must say he's performing beyond my wildest dreams. Got even you roped into his Christmas fantasy, huh?" Sam smiled widely at Tony, as if he was genuinely pleased with him. It was impossible to dislike this guy. He was the perfect partner for Steve, Tony thought a little sourly: upbeat, understanding and likeable. All things Tony failed miserably at even on his best days.

"Yeah, he is a bit of an overachiever if you ask me. A wreath and some Chinese takeout would have sufficed for me, but it is hard to say no to those big blue eyes."

"No shit," commiserated Sam. "I go along with the stupidest plans from that guy. Somehow they always work out, though. So did this one. Gotta say the place is beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

It was. There were candles burning on the mantle, and garlands, and lights strung along the ceilings, held up by.... arrows? Tony was going to have a talk with Barton about shooting stuff into his walls. Anyway. Sam was right. The room looked warm in a way Tony had never experienced before.

"Have you guys tasted the cookies yet?" Tony looked wistfully at the table where Clint kept piling up more cookies every few minutes. The smell was killing him.

"Nah," said Bruce with a frown, "Apparently there is a 'eat one for every ten you decorate" rule and we've been busy here." He indicated the garland.

"Dammit, " said Tony, "I was hoping that was a rule he made up especially for me, so I could ignore it."

"'Fraid not," laughed Sam. "You'll have to put in your dues like all of us. Although if you want to give us the first cookie you earn, Bruce and I would be most grateful."

"Please," scoffed Tony, "Have you met me? Screw you guys. It's every man for himself, cookie-wise." He squared his shoulder and took another chug of beer. "Wish me luck, I'm going in." He stalked to the table before he could talk himself out of it.

 

***

 

Tony was putting on the gold details of his third little gingerbread Iron Man, when Clint came over and accused him of cheating.

"Fuck you," said Tony, "I am not outsourcing anything, therefore I am not cheating. I'm just having J.A.R.V.I.S. project some lines onto the undecorated cookie. Would you accuse your grandmother of cheating if she showed you her paint-by-numbers masterpiece?"

"Actually," said Clint, "You and my grandmother have remarkably similar personalities, now that I think about it. She's probably done a paint-by-numbers self portrait too."

"Fine. I'll do you next."

"No, no, never mind! Keep going with the baked narcissism."

"Guys," admonished Steve mildly, and Tony swallowed a scathing reply. He shot a quick glance at Steve, who was smiling benignly at his traditional little gingerbread men and sugar cookie Christmas wreaths. He swallowed hard and went back to work. Clint went back to kitchen, mumbling what sounded like an apology. 'Twas truly the season of miracles, apparently. Either that, or Steve's people managing skills were miraculous and Tony wasn't ready to add that to the guy's exhaustive list of good qualities. He was killing Tony as it was.

He glanced over to pile of gingerbread men Natasha was producing. They weren't what you'd call traditional. He cocked his head.

"What is with that one?" He pointed at one with a green leg.

"Gangrene," she muttered. "Forgot to clean his knives and had a little accident."

Okaaaaayyyy. "And that one?" He pointed at one with a wide open mouth and an amorphous brown blob on his yellow shirt.

"Don't eat wild mushrooms unless you really know your shit."

He nodded appreciatively, then pointed at one with with a pointy thing on his hand and a red smudge where his nose should be.

"Don't pick your nose if you have a hook for a hand."

"I see. Valuable life lessons, all. Are we handing these out to disadvantaged children at an orphanage?"

Natasha smirked. "It'd be the charitable thing to do, don't you think? Then maybe they won't end up miserable failures."

Tony sat back and crossed his arms, considering her. "Not to mention disfigured. I'd say the money this country could save on health care costs alone would make it worth the effort. You'll probably get a medal."

Natasha laughed. Tony realized he'd never heard her laugh before. He quickly looked over at Steve, who was also staring at Natasha, his mouth open in wonder. He wasn't the only one then. Then Steve's eye cut over to him and he shot Tony a big happy smile. Tony felt like he was drowning, but he couldn't look away. Finally Steve dimmed the wattage.

"You got seven more to do before you can eat one, Tony." The warmth in his voice made Tony want to curl up in his lap.

"Right." He quickly cast his eyes downward and went back to work. As promised, he did Hawkeye next, then Widow, both Bruce and Hulk (that one was easy), Thor came out a little weird, but gingerbread Loki was awesome. He paid lots of attention to gingerbread Cap and it came out adorable. Tony surreptitiously took a picture of it. He looked around.

"Hey, Clint, can you make me a gingerbread man with wings? I need to do Falcon."

"Thanks, man!" came Sam's voice from the couch, "I appreciate the inclusiveness!"

"'Tis the spirit of the season!” Tony called back. “Still not getting my cookie, though."

Clint came over to look at what he had. "You got ten already."

"That's right," said Tony, and then picked up the little Hawkeye and looked Clint in the eye while he bit its head off.

"Ouch," said Clint, walking away. "Dude with wings coming right up."

Tony made pleased noises around his mouth full of exceptional cookie. Then he made a Maria and another Hawkeye while he waited for his custom order. He hated having incomplete sets.

 

***

 

Just when Tony had had about as much company as he could take and was considering going back to his workshop, despite the fact that he really wouldn't mind another cookie or two, it was unanimously decided that the tree was ready for decorating and Tony was pulled along in a flurry of ornaments, popcorn garlands, tinsel and Steve's wreath cookies.

"Wait. The cookies go on the tree?" asked Bruce.

"Yup," said Clint, "Just stick them on a branch."

"And once they are on, they are fair game?" Bruce was looking a little shifty.

"No. They. Are. Not. Don't even think about it. I will shoot you."

"And then the Big Guy would smash your tree and your cookies would be the last of your worries. Honestly, Clint." Bruce gave him a sad smile. "Actually, I feel a little angry just thinking about it..." With that he snapped a cookie in half. "Whoops. Sorry." He quickly shoved one half in his mouth and tossed the other to Sam, who followed suit.

"Oh man! These are awesome!" Sam exclaimed. He slapped a scowling Clint on the back. "Good job averting a Hulk crisis, my man. Worth a cookie, I'm sure."

Clint huffed in annoyance, but wisely shut up.

 

The tree decorating segued into movie night whith all of them piled on the sectional having a lengthy argument about what modern Christmas movies Steve really had to see. They'd be there till Easter with the way everyone kept adding movies to the list, so Tony finally just told J.A.R.V.I.S. to start whatever modern Christmas movie had the highest rating on Rotten Tomatoes and _Love, Actually_ came on and everyone shut up. Somehow Tony had ended up next to Steve and he spent most of the evening being viscerally, painfully, aware of the two inches of air between them. They talked occasionally, Tony pointing out some of the less obvious connections between the seemingly random group of people in the movie and Steve asking the odd question or two about general history. At some point, Clint on Steve's other side jostled him and Steve's knee fell against Tony's thigh. He left it there. It kept sending little jolts of electricity through Tony, but he he didn't move his leg either. He'd rather have cut off an arm.

People started wandering off to bed during _The Santa Clause_ , but Steve stayed put and therefore Tony could not have moved if he wanted to. Every departure was accompanied by a chorus of 'goodnight's. When Sam and Bruce passed behind the couch on their way to their respective rooms Tony heard Sam ask: "How long has that been going on?" To which Bruce answered: "Since they brought the tree home, as far as I can tell." And Tony had a sinking feeling that they were talking about him, that his stupid crush was visible from space and everybody had seen the naked longing in his eyes, but then Sam smacked Steve on the back of his head in passing and called him 'dumbass', so apparently it was something Steve related. He breathed a sigh of relief.

By the time the movie ended it was just the two of them. Still with the two inches between them as if neither of them had noticed they now had space to spread out.

"Do you want to watch another one?" asked Tony, "Or are you going up too?"

"Aren't you tired?"

"Nah, I don't sleep much." Or well, Tony added silently. Especially recently.

"Neither do I. Is there something maybe not quite so modern that is any good?"

"Sure. You want Santa or Angels?"

"Uh... We just had Santa, so maybe Angels?"

"J.A.R.V.I.S., play _It's a Wonderful Life_ please."

And so Tony got to spend another two hours in the blissful torture of almost but not quite being plastered to Steve's side while they watched Jimmy Stewart being pummeled by life. Tony personally thought this fucking movie was bullshit, but even that fact seemed to have lost its relevance this night.


	5. Here We Come A-wassailing

Steve strolled into Tony's workshop as if there weren't layers upon layers of security to prevent strangers walking in.

" What the fuck, J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"He's very persuasive, Sir. And polite."

"Are you saying my security system has no defense against polite, persuasive villains? Because if that is the case I can wipe you and start over."

"Sir! Captain Rogers is not a villain!" J.A.R.V.I.S. sounded almost scandalized.

"Not the point, you sycophant."

He looked at Steve who had come to stand leaning with his back against Tony's workbench, arms crossed and smiling widely. Tony ignored the now familiar swoop in his stomach and glared at him. "And you need to not subvert my A.I."

"Aw, Tony, I'm one of the good guys. J.A.R.V.I.S. just said so!"

"Steve, I am sure you're the best. Phenomenal, even. Still no reason to wheedle your way past my A.I., he could have passed on a message."

"He did. You ignored it. So I've come to fetch you."

"Fetch me? Wait, what was the message?"

"You're needed upstairs."

"Oh. That one. Yeah, sorry, no can do. I'm in the middle of something here." He turned his attention back to his work, figuring that was that. But Steve didn't leave. When Steve's presence remained stubbornly close, Tony looked at him sideways. Steve was grinning now. That didn't bode well.

"Fetch me for what, exactly?"

"Thor has come a-wassailing."

"Thor has.... _what?"_

"Come a-wassailing. Thor is here to sing to your health, as lord of the manor, and to sing for the health of your orchards." Steve was having a hard time containing his glee.

"Thor is here to sing to my orchards?" Tony asked flatly. He wondered what the hell had happened to his relatively uneventful life of three weeks ago. "Do I even have orchards?"

"I thought you had everything."

"True. True. I hope they are in Tuscany, or somewhere else pretty."

"That'd be nice. I'm picturing them on some sun-drenched bluff with a view over the Mediterranean."

"That does sound nice. We should go visit them sometime. Make sure Thor is doing his job." Great, now he was picturing lounging on a blanket in the dappled shade among the trees with Steve, picnic basket by their side, feeding the man one grape at a time, and brushing his lips with his fingers as he did so.

"We should. June work for you?" Steve looked a little wistful as well, but Tony doubted it was him featuring prominently in Steve's daydreams.

"Barring any last minute alien invasions, I'm sure I can make it work."

"It's a deal then. But first, there needs to be mulled mead and singing."

"It sounds ominous. Are you sure I need to be there? Usually people demand I stay away from situations this fraught with potential disaster and alcohol, in case I make it worse."

"You're the lord of the manor. He'll accept no substitutions."

"On your head it be, then. Do I need to change for this?"

"You look great."

Tony looked down at his cargo pants and his black wife beater and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Steve, who flushed a little.

"Maybe a shirt?" Steve hedged. Tony grabbed a dark red Henley from the couch and pulled it over his head. He held out his arms to silently request Steve's judgment.

"It'll do." Steve nodded curtly. "Come on, then. Wouldn't want to miss the god singing to you and your trees."

"God forbid," said Tony, "Lead the way, then." They started towards the elevator. "Oh. J.A.R.V.I.S.? Make sure I have some orchards or else buy me some. I don't want to know what happens when a god sings to an orchard of mine that doesn't exist."

"Wise," smiled Steve. Maybe it was. But more importantly, there was no chance in hell Tony was going to be orchardless in June. Just in case Steve hadn't been joking.

 

 

***

 

"Friend Anthony!" boomed Thor as soon as they made their entrance. "Waes Hael! Health unto you and yours! Blessings onto your house and orchards! May your Yuletide be merry and bright!" Tony glanced at Jane, who was standing next to her boyfriend, with the rosy cheeks and the too wide smile of the mildly inebriated. She shrugged helplessly in return. In his fireplace hung a kettle that made the room smell like honey, cinnamon and apples, while making his eyes sting with alcoholic fumes at the same time. Darcy was ladling the steaming liquid into something that looked like a soup tureen. Everybody was looking at Tony expectantly. How the fuck was this his life? He looked at Thor, who was beaming down at him and then he looked at Steve who was doing the same. Good. All the big blond dudes were happy with Tony so far. Now he just needed to not screw that up.

"What does the lord of the manor say on these occasions, Steve? So as not to cause any interstellar incidents."

"I don't really know. But I figure you can't go wrong with a welcome of some sort."

"Alright. I can do that." He threw his arms around Thor and went for a godly volume as he bellowed in return: "Welcome to you and yours, friend Thor! Merry Yuletide to you all. Let's pass the wassail and drink to everyone's health!" Thor pounded him happily on the back while everyone started cheering as if this was some momentous occasion and Tony really needed to start hanging out with different people if this qualified as a cheering opportunity. Then Thor called for the Wassail Bowl, by which he apparently meant the soup tureen, and poured about half a gallon of the hot, sweet, spicy and above all alcoholic concoction down Tony's throat and after that everything was pretty much a blur. A blur with an astounding amount of singing in it.

 

***

 

Tony tried to wrestle himself back into consciousness, but got stuck in some sort of halfway state. He was very comfortable there, so he wasn't trying very hard. He couldn't hear any more singing, which was a blessing because he could already tell he was going to have the mother of all hangovers come morning. Or come afternoon, more likely. But at the moment that seemed a long time off. He could hear Thor speaking quietly somewhere not too far away, but didn't catch the words. Then Steve answered him and his voice was close, very, very close. In fact, Tony could feel it reverberating under his cheek. He came marginally more awake as he realized he must be lying with his head on Steve's chest. He started a little and felt Steve's arm - Steve's arm?- tighten around him as if to hold him in place and then a hand started to rub soothing circles on his back. Tony felt himself slipping back into sleep. Just before he went completely under he thought he felt a kiss pressed into his hair. Must have been a dream.

 

***

 

Christmas Eve was a very subdued affair in the tower. Thor and his entourage had left all bleary eyed in the morning. Falcon had dragged himself out of bed at noon and left for his aunt's house. Everyone else was barely mobile by the end of the afternoon and still a little green around the gills. Everyone except Steve, who was fine, unsurprisingly, but he was kind enough not to rub it in. Bruce made a light soup for dinner to cater to the delicate state of their stomachs and they watched _Home Alone_ and barely spoke. It wasn't until everyone had gone back to bed and Tony was finally starting to feel better, that he noticed Steve was gone. It was kind of odd. The way he had been freakishly aware of Steve's presence for the last week or so, it was strange to have lost sight of him the way he had right now.

"Captain Rogers left the tower around 10.30 pm, Sir," provided J.A.R.V.I.S. upon request.

"Let me know when he returns," Tony said and went to get some work done on his thrusters.

 

It was almost 2 am when J.A.R.V.I.S. announced Steve's return. Tony hoofed it up the stairs and arrived in the kitchen at the same time as Steve. Looking Steve up and down he decided that whatever Steve had gone to do it hadn't been a happy thing. He breathed a little sigh of relief that Steve apparently hadn't gone and gotten laid or anything, but then told himself off for being that petty. Not that it would shock anyone that he was petty. Still, he could strive to be a better than that.

"Cookies and milk?" he offered the silent man. "Or hot chocolate?"

Steve smiled wanly. "Cookies and milk sound good."

Tony found the last of Clint's cookies with a little help from J.A.R.V.I.S. and poured them both a glass of milk, while Steve climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Tony stood across from him. He waited until they'd had at least three cookies and Steve had refilled his glass of milk.

"Where did you go?" he asked, trying to silently convey the notion that if Steve didn't want to answer, he didn't have to.

Steve looked at him. "Midnight mass," he said after a long pause.

Tony nodded in acknowledgment. "Why did you go alone? You know some of us would have gone with you if you'd asked." Probably not Tony, because he was profoundly uncomfortable with the whole concept of church, but he was sure Natasha would have. And if she hadn't, Tony probably would have sucked it up and gone.

"I know," Steve said quietly, "I wanted to go alone. We've had a lot of company and it's been wonderful, but it was good to have a break." He took another sip of milk, then added in a softer voice: "Sometimes it is better to face your ghosts alone. Or at least surrounded by strangers who don't know your story or what you've lost."

"Yeah," Tony nodded again, "Then you don't have to worry about not worrying the people who care about you and you don't have to keep up appearances. I get it."

"Exactly." Steve's smile was a little less wobbly. "I lit some candles for people that are gone and I sat and listened to the music and just allowed myself to miss them." He gave a little huff. "I lit one for your dad... It's weird, Tony. You're so different, yet so alike. Lately I miss him the least, because you are more than filling the hole he left and I think we're closer than he and I ever were. But then I feel like I am betraying his memory by replacing him with you. I feel that way about so many people."

"I think moving on always feels like betrayal on some level. Everybody who grieves feels that way at some point, Steve. It's actually a good sign, I think. A sign that you are, in fact, letting go and starting anew. It's a good time of year for that."

"I guess so." Steve drummed his fingers on the table. "I still need to find Bucky, though. I wish he would let me find him."

"He will." Tony was sure. "You're a stubborn son of a bitch. He doesn't stand a chance."

"He never did before," Steve smiled, "Even back when he was twice my size I always won any battle of wills."

"See? It's just a matter of time. You have all the technology in this tower at your disposal, too, should you need it."

"Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it." Steve stood up. "And I appreciate you waiting up for me."

"De nada. You know Insomnia is my only superpower."

"Really? Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist? I thought those were all superpowers?"

Tony laughed. "Sure. If you say so, Captain. Although I haven't done any decent playboying for a couple of years. I guess I am getting old."

"Genius, Billionaire, Insomniac, Philanthropist, then."

"Truly, an invaluable member of the team."

"Stuff the sarcasm, Stark, you _are_ invaluable." With those words Steve wrapped him in a bear hug. Tony closed his eyes and let the sensation wash over him. The strong arms around him, the massive chest, Steve's scent, Steve's cheek against his temple. He exhaled shakily as he reminded himself that this was a hug, a very platonic hug, a thank you hug, a reassurance hug and not a come here with your face and kiss me hug, no matter how much he wanted it to be that.  
There was only so much of that that he could take, though. He stepped back and smiled at Steve, wished him goodnight and walked away, head high. One more day. He'd promised to be there at Christmas and he would. But after that it was time to go spend some quality time in California. Before Steve drove him nuts.

 

***

 

Fifteen more minutes. Tony had to hold out fifteen more minutes and then this whole Christmas thing would be officially over and he could go back to his regularly scheduled life. And lick his wounds or something, but they'd never be able to prove that. He'd shown up on Christmas morning and it was fine. He gave them gifts. Tech for Bruce, deadly tech for Natasha, techy arrows for Clint and a ridiculous (cashmere) scarf for Steve. Which he was really happy with because he lost his. Lost being a relative term, of course. Just because Steve didn't know where his old scarf was, didn't mean that Tony didn't remember where he'd been keeping it. Steve gave them all drawings of themselves and Tony loved his.

They spent most of the day cooking, and surprisingly, it was fun, like Bruce had claimed two weeks ago. Tony stuck around and helped peel potatoes, truss the turkey and toss the salad and open the bottles of imported Russian vodka. They'd eaten, they'd talked and they'd laughed and it had all been wonderful. But it had been torture at the same time. Tony was sick of feeling like this: off balance and needy and overly sensitive. Hyper-aware of everything Steve did, and said and feeling a desperate need to interpret every little twitch on his face. It was fucking exhausting and he was so done with it.

He'd been about to thank everybody for a lovely day and escape when he and Steve had been delegated to clean up duty. Tony because he'd contributed the least to the cooking and Steve because he'd eaten the most. So here they were, washing the pots and pans that didn't fit in the dishwasher. And it'd be about fifteen more minutes before he could escape.

"Tony, are you ok? You seem tense." Steve looked up at him, sleeves rolled up and his forearms wet with steaming, sudsy water. Tony wanted to scream into his damp dishtowel that he needed to stop looking at him like that. With all the big blue eyes and the concern and stuff.

"I'm fine. I'm totally fine." Tony didn't pull that one off, he could tell. It was obvious by the way Steve's face went even more frowny.

"Listen. I am sorry if we forced you into this. I know you said you preferred being alone. We should have -"

"No. No, Steve, stop. It's not that. It was fun. It was fine. It was totally fine. It's just - I'm just -"

"Oh. My. _God!"_ yelled Clint from the couch, where he was finishing off the vodka with Natasha. "I can't take it anymore! You're killing me over here. Nat, give me the mistletoe." Steve and Tony dragged their eyes away from each other and stared at Clint.

"Clint..." Natasha sounded weary.

"Don't Clint me! Give me the fucking mistletoe..... _Thank_ you." Three seconds later an arrow sporting mistletoe thunked into the wall over Tony's head. Again with the arrows in his walls! Before he could ream Clint out, though, the man was yelling again.

"There, you fucktards! Mistletoe! Steve, for the love of god, just kiss him and put us all out of our misery." Tony's eyes whipped back to Steve, mouth agape. Steve was blushing furiously and looking anywhere but at Tony.

"Clint, I don't think..." Steve almost whispered, but then cut off when Tony grabbed him by the collar and yanked him closer. His eyes flew up to Tony's and his blush deepened even more.

"Tony, I..." he started, trying to pull back. Tony cut him off.

"You heard the man." He jerked his head sideways. "There's the mistletoe. Now kiss me."

Steve's eyes went wide, but he still wasn't kissing Tony. Exasperated, Tony pulled him in more, went on his tiptoes and pressed his mouth to Steve's. It was awkward and the angle was wrong and there were way too many teeth involved, but then Steve made a surprised little noise that trailed off into a whimper and the next thing Tony knew he was being yanked against Steve's chest and Steve tilted his head just so and then their mouths slotted perfectly together and then Steve's tongue was in his mouth and Tony's knees gave out. That didn't matter in the least, because Steve held him up with ease and Tony slid his arms around Steve's neck and his hands into his hair.

"Fucking finally," came Clint's voice from far away, but Tony ignored him. He was too busy being mauled. Steve's warm, wet hands were wandering all over. When he squeezed Tony's ass, Tony's hand involuntarily tightened in Steve's hair and Steve groaned and thrust his tongue even deeper into Tony's mouth. Tony could hardly believe this was happening. Cool, dispassionate Steve was kissing him as if he'd been dying to do so for ages. It was heady and overwhelming and completely fucking exhilarating. He pulled on Steve's neck, trying to get even closer and Steve responded by lifting him up as if he weighed nothing. How fucking hot was that? He wrapped his legs around Steve's hips and, oh sweet Jesus, now their cocks lined up and he could feel the press of Steve's erection against his own. It was Tony's turn to moan and renew the onslaught on Steve's mouth.

"Okay, guys," Clint sounded a little strangled. "Get a room, will ya? No fucking in the kitchen, please."

Steve tore his mouth away from Tony and rested his forehead against his. "Tony?" He sounded happy and uncertain at the same time. Tony smiled at him.

"Carry me?"

Steve's answering grin was blinding. "Sure thing." He kissed Tony quickly. "Your room, or mine?"

"Whichever is closer."

Steve started walking them to the door.

"Hey!" yelled Clint. "What about the kitchen clean up?"

"I'm outsourcing it!" Tony called back. "J.A.R.V.I.S., call a cleaning service."

"Sure thing, Sir."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I post writing updates on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/marilenalena).


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